Recorder
by Bag Of Badgers
Summary: ItaGer. Italy wants to film Germany while they have sex, and quite obviously not safe for work things ensue.


It is safe to say this is the most embarrassing thing Germany has ever done, even counting the time with the frosting.

Italy stands above him, looking down through the small flip camera. "All right, this looks like a good angle, what do you think?"

Germany shrugs as well as he can with his hands tied behind his back. "It seems all right."

"Great!" Italy chirps, letting the hand with the camera fall to the side and ruffling through Germany's hair until it hangs over his forehead. "And you're — are you okay with this?"

Leaning briefly into the touch, Germany nods and glances up at him. "I trust you," he half-mumbles, feeling the beginnings of a blush on his face.

Italy beams, going a little soft in the eyes. He plops himself down heavily on the edge of the bed and says "Okay, so do you think I should turn this on?"

"I — sure?"

Doing so, Italy grins and slings one of his long legs over Germany's broad shoulder. "Ready?"

Germany nods again, watching as Italy reaches down to unzip his pants and trail slender fingers across the front of his boxers. He's beginning to harden, tip of his tongue between his teeth, and Germany is not quite sure what he's supposed to be doing right now or where he should be looking — the camera, Italy's crotch — and settles for the middle ground of somewhere just above Italy's bellybutton.

Fortunately, he doesn't have to wonder for long. Face flushed, Italy looks down at him, boxers shoved down in one of those strange acts of clothing acrobatics special to Italy. He nods his head quickly at Germany, adjusting his hold on the camera, and Germany sends a very brief glance up towards the camera before leaning forward and opening his mouth.

The warmth of Italy in his mouth is familiar, and so is the soft moan, and Germany doesn't quite need the gentle nudge under his chin to remind him to look up as he sucks. It doesn't mean he blushes less, but Italy does slide his hand into Germany's hair and slowly tangle the locks in his fingers. He doesn't push, though, instead letting Germany accustom himself to each tiny bit he takes further in.

Fingers curling around each other, Germany bobs his head, quickly swiping his tongue. Italy gasps, tugging on his hair and pulling him forward, making him gag a little. "Sorry," he breathes out.

Germany shakes his head, making sure it's not so much that he accidentally knocks Italy with his teeth, and Italy sighs.

"Just let me know when you're ready."

Germany cocks an eyebrow at him, but manages to slide down until his nose brushes the hairs around Italy's base. He swallows, eyes still on Italy's face and the camera in front of it.

"D-does that mean you're ready?"

Germany mm's.

"Okay." Italy strokes his hair quickly before gripping it again and tugging his head back, almost all the way off —

— and then back down, nearly the whole way in, and so sudden that Germany almost chokes, but he nods when Italy breathes "Still okay?" and then he does it _again_, not quite as quickly but there's barely any time for Germany to breathe and somehow it doesn't quite seem as urgent as it should when Italy holds his head all the way down.

"Eyes up," comes the gentle reminder, and Germany obeys as best he can when this whole situation is _very_ distracting and he's — oh God, he's starting to get hard and he hasn't even been _touched_ and that becomes the last thing on his mind with Italy's next thrust.

Italy is panting, a little raggedly, hand still tight in his hair and his grip on the camera is looking a little shaky even when he slows to let Germany breathe.

Germany isn't sure how long this lasts, but when Italy finally pulls out and runs his thumb along Germany's swollen, damp lips, he can tell his throat is going to be sore and that it really won't matter at all.

"C-c'mon, up," Italy pants, pushing himself up and back onto the bed, wiggling out of his pants. His attempt to help pull Germany up isn't that much help, all considered, but they manage to get him onto the bed, and Italy pulls him forward until he's straddling Italy's hips.

Italy adjusts his grip on the camera, reaching with his other hand for the lube they placed beforehand on the nightstand. Germany doesn't wait for Italy to finish his "Are you ready?", breathing "_Yes_," and Italy slides in two fingers together and _that_ —

— Germany bites back a moan, hips twitching, and Italy grins at him.

"The camera," he chirps, and Germany takes another look before Italy crooks his fingers and he squeaks, going red in that way Italy seems to be constantly able to cause.

He doesn't take as long as he usually does to prepare Germany, but Germany doesn't entirely mind because what Italy does is still good, still — _oh_ — still very, very talented, and if Italy does _that_ again with his fingers then Germany might bite through his own lip so it's really all for the better that he pulls his fingers out.

Of course, since Italy is rolling on a condom (still one-handed, he's always been good with his hands like that), it's not going to last long.

"You ready?"

Germany eyes him quickly and bites out "What do you think?", and Italy actually _laughs _before pulling Germany down and letting him settle and _shit_ that's _full_, it always is, and Germany tenses his hands behind his back before slowly lifting himself up, uncomfortably aware of how — how _on display_ he is for Italy, but it's the sort of discomfort that he's a little ashamed for not shrinking from.

And then he drops back down and decides to just not think quite so much for a bit.

There's no good way to counterbalance himself like this, and Germany tries to make up for it by tightening his thighs around Italy's waist, digging his nails into his palms. He glances briefly at the camera in Italy's hand, and at the beginnings of a grin on Italy's face, and oh he knows where this is going —

"I swear to God if you — _nngh_ — say _anything_ about 'Italian stallions' I'll feed you canned pasta for a month —"

"Wouldn't dream of it, _tesoro_," Italy says blithely, if a little breathlessly, digging the fingers of his free hand into Germany's hip.

"_Wouldn't_ you," he retorts, but his heart is really quite definitely in a different place and a sudden sharp thrust makes him gasp before he can continue.

Italy laughs, round cheeks dimpling, and thrusts up again.

Biting his lip, Germany rolls his hips faster, wishing he had his hands free to — he's not quite sure what: touch himself, hold on to Italy, try to balance because he really does feel worryingly like he's going to fall over and that would be embarrassing enough without being filmed and the only method he's got the mental space to concentrate on right now involves tightening around Italy and moving faster which doesn't do wonders for his balance _or_ his ability to concentrate on anything at all.

Italy beams and makes a grab for Germany's ass, eliciting a squeak that turns into a yelp when he gives it a light slap — really more of an emphatic pat, but still — and Germany ducks his head a little, embarrassed at the noise. He didn't need _that_ recorded, it was bad enough that he made those noises anyway and really didn't seem to have much control over it.

Although Italy doesn't seem to mind that much, pushing up and muttering in fast Italian, hair beginning to stick to his forehead.

Italy groans underneath him, mouth shaping almost obscenely around _Germania, dio santo, Germania_, and drops his head back to the pillows. Germany slows for him — Italy gets hypersensitive afterwards — shivering a little and red in the face.

"Oh — oh, darn," Italy breathes out. "I just dropped the camera." He picks it up again a little shakily and gives a brief smile, pointing it at Germany. "Smile!"

Germany does, but briefly because Italy chooses that moment to reach out with his other hand and wrap it around him again and begin stroking quite vigorously. Before long, he's trying again to stifle the moans building up in the back of his throat and definitely not succeeding, and he knows he's completely red, and Italy twists his wrist just _so_ and presses his thumb just under the head and — _and_!

He comes with a soft curse, shuddering. Italy smiles gently at him and switches off the camera after a few more seconds, setting it to the side before he reaches to untie Germany's hands.

"Good job," he coos. Germany accepts the ensuing kiss (to be honest, he did miss them) and Italy's chirpy "And I bet the video's gonna look great thanks it really does mean a lot to me that you'd do this!" He pauses for breath, runs his thumb along Germany's knuckles.

"Thanks," he mumbles, kissing the spot right behind Italy's jaw.

Trailing his other hand through Germany's still-sweaty hair, Italy adds "And maybe I could make one for you?" and Germany flushes all over again.


End file.
